This weekend we celebrated Annie’s birthday at the Children’s Museum of Tacoma. A group of her little friends came to run wild, explore every nook, and cover themselves in glitter and giggles which, if you know Annie, feels pretty on-brand.
And as I watched her laugh her way through the day, something hit me harder than I expected: She deserves this.
Not just the party. Not just the celebration.
But the space. The attention. The spotlight.
She’s the sibling of a medically complex child or what some people call a “glass child.”
I hadn’t heard that term until recently. It refers to the children who seem “fine” because they’re not in and out of hospitals or getting the daily meds. But they’re often quietly navigating a world where their sibling’s needs come first because they have to.
They’re called “glass” not because they’re fragile… but because people look through them.
Oof. That part got me.
Because I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to tell Annie,
“Hang on, baby, I need to take care of this first.”
Or “Can we do your thing later? We have to go to the doctor.”
And she never complains.
She helps.
She adapts.
She cheers on her sibling like it’s her full-time job.
But this weekend wasn’t about adapting. It was about her.
And it was a reminder I needed, more than I realized.
Because along with all the logistics I carry the meds, the planning, the endless paperwork, I carry a good amount of guilt too.
Guilt that I’m not giving enough.
Guilt that someone’s always waiting.
Guilt that one child’s needs sometimes overshadow the other’s joy.
But this weekend, I let it go. Just a little.
Because Annie didn’t need a perfect mom.
She just needed a day that was hers.
So if you’re a caregiver, especially one balancing more than one child, I see you. And I know how heavy that guilt can feel.
But don’t forget you deserve moments of joy too. And so do the ones quietly holding it all together alongside you.
Happy birthday, Annie.
Thank you for reminding me what really matters.
Mallory